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Authors: Simon Kernick
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questioning.
Kent clearly sensed that something was wrong because he looked nervously from one officer to the other and kept licking his lips. Jacobs, his brief, just looked impatient.
Tina made the necessary introductions for the camera, then stared hard at Kent, wondering what it was like to have such a base disregard for human life. He’d inflicted unquantifiable levels of pain and misery, not only on his victims, but on their families and friends too. She hated him then. Hated every single fibre of his being because, sitting there acting innocent, he reminded her of everything that had gone wrong in her own life as a result of someone like him.
Steadying herself, and conscious of MacLeod waiting for her to begin, she finally spoke. ‘We’ve found a number of home videos on your computer, Mr Kent, that depict the murder of several of the Night Creeper’s victims.’
Kent looked stunned. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t have anything like that on my computer.’
‘As your lawyer, I’m advising you not to say anything else, Mr Kent,’ said Jacobs, who also looked shocked. ‘Not until we’ve spoken about this.’ He turned to Tina. ‘I need a few moments alone with my client, officers.’
But Kent didn’t seem to be listening. He was staring at Tina and MacLeod. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly. I don’t have any graphic videos on my laptop. Did you find this stuff on a computer in my flat?’
‘I think we need time alone,’ said Jacobs firmly, putting a hand on his arm.
Kent pulled away and leaned across the desk, getting close enough to Tina that she could smell the sourness of his sweat. ‘Someone’s setting me up,’ he pleaded, getting louder. ‘They’ve got to be. I don’t know why, but someone’s setting me up.’
‘Calm down, Mr Kent,’ said MacLeod, speaking for the first time.
‘What computer did you find? Just tell me that. Because I’ve got a Dell Inspiron. That’s my one. I promise.’
MacLeod told him it was an Apple Mac and Kent continued with his frenzied denials: he’d never even owned an Apple Mac, let alone put graphic videos on one.
Tina sat back and watched him. She’d been on no end of training courses over the years on body language, in which she’d been taught to spot the tell-tale signs of a liar: lack of hand movements, defensive posture, failure to make eye contact. But Kent was exhibiting none of these.
Tina forced down the shred of doubt she was feeling. He was obviously just an incredible actor, as were a small but not insignificant minority of criminals. With a quick glance at MacLeod, who gave her a barely perceptible nod, she looked her suspect right in the eye, and charged him with murder.
Kent leaped to his feet and shouted that he was innocent, his face stretched into an expression of dismay and righteous anger. ‘Can’t you understand that? I’m innocent!’
‘Sit down,’ demanded Jacobs, grabbing him by the arm.
Kent angrily swatted his hand aside and stared again at Tina, his eyes wide in the kind of little-boy-lost impression that might have worked before she knew what type of man he was. ‘Please . . .’ he whispered.
‘Do what your lawyer says and sit down, Mr Kent,’ she told him. ‘You’ll get your opportunity to put your side of the story in court.’
She noticed he was shaking and, concerned that he was about to lash out, maybe even make a break for it, she tensed, placing a hand on her CS spray under the table, remembering all too well how fast he could move when he wanted to, and how dangerous he could be.
But he didn’t, and it took Tina a second to realize there were tears running down his cheeks. Then, finally, he fell back into his seat, and as Tina continued to charge him with each of the five murders, he put his head in his hands and sobbed quietly, Jacobs looking down at him with an expression of distaste. Once she’d finished, Tina stood and she and MacLeod left the room, but as she
Kent clearly sensed that something was wrong because he looked nervously from one officer to the other and kept licking his lips. Jacobs, his brief, just looked impatient.
Tina made the necessary introductions for the camera, then stared hard at Kent, wondering what it was like to have such a base disregard for human life. He’d inflicted unquantifiable levels of pain and misery, not only on his victims, but on their families and friends too. She hated him then. Hated every single fibre of his being because, sitting there acting innocent, he reminded her of everything that had gone wrong in her own life as a result of someone like him.
Steadying herself, and conscious of MacLeod waiting for her to begin, she finally spoke. ‘We’ve found a number of home videos on your computer, Mr Kent, that depict the murder of several of the Night Creeper’s victims.’
Kent looked stunned. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t have anything like that on my computer.’
‘As your lawyer, I’m advising you not to say anything else, Mr Kent,’ said Jacobs, who also looked shocked. ‘Not until we’ve spoken about this.’ He turned to Tina. ‘I need a few moments alone with my client, officers.’
But Kent didn’t seem to be listening. He was staring at Tina and MacLeod. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly. I don’t have any graphic videos on my laptop. Did you find this stuff on a computer in my flat?’
‘I think we need time alone,’ said Jacobs firmly, putting a hand on his arm.
Kent pulled away and leaned across the desk, getting close enough to Tina that she could smell the sourness of his sweat. ‘Someone’s setting me up,’ he pleaded, getting louder. ‘They’ve got to be. I don’t know why, but someone’s setting me up.’
‘Calm down, Mr Kent,’ said MacLeod, speaking for the first time.
‘What computer did you find? Just tell me that. Because I’ve got a Dell Inspiron. That’s my one. I promise.’
MacLeod told him it was an Apple Mac and Kent continued with his frenzied denials: he’d never even owned an Apple Mac, let alone put graphic videos on one.
Tina sat back and watched him. She’d been on no end of training courses over the years on body language, in which she’d been taught to spot the tell-tale signs of a liar: lack of hand movements, defensive posture, failure to make eye contact. But Kent was exhibiting none of these.
Tina forced down the shred of doubt she was feeling. He was obviously just an incredible actor, as were a small but not insignificant minority of criminals. With a quick glance at MacLeod, who gave her a barely perceptible nod, she looked her suspect right in the eye, and charged him with murder.
Kent leaped to his feet and shouted that he was innocent, his face stretched into an expression of dismay and righteous anger. ‘Can’t you understand that? I’m innocent!’
‘Sit down,’ demanded Jacobs, grabbing him by the arm.
Kent angrily swatted his hand aside and stared again at Tina, his eyes wide in the kind of little-boy-lost impression that might have worked before she knew what type of man he was. ‘Please . . .’ he whispered.
‘Do what your lawyer says and sit down, Mr Kent,’ she told him. ‘You’ll get your opportunity to put your side of the story in court.’
She noticed he was shaking and, concerned that he was about to lash out, maybe even make a break for it, she tensed, placing a hand on her CS spray under the table, remembering all too well how fast he could move when he wanted to, and how dangerous he could be.
But he didn’t, and it took Tina a second to realize there were tears running down his cheeks. Then, finally, he fell back into his seat, and as Tina continued to charge him with each of the five murders, he put his head in his hands and sobbed quietly, Jacobs looking down at him with an expression of distaste. Once she’d finished, Tina stood and she and MacLeod left the room, but as she
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